I have been living on a standing stage of trying, everything's revolving recklessly around me. How can I try for another beginning and never be afraid anymore for the end?
I am so lonely like a fiction realistic skeleton test neglected for the rest of the school hour, and only given chance to be touched and be examined whenever a topic was up that is about me. Why can't I just be a book where everyone loves to caress it softly and smell as brand new?
Cataclysm of my own revolution. Eerie shallows. Eyes that never spark like they used to do before. Owned pair of apocalypse lips, always begging for something everyone has. Burning touch from various of fingertips that makes me melt to death. Catastrophic event inside my mind dancing solely, and singing soft soul and blues reflecting my expression outside and mocking my distraught inside; voices that has been heard and unheard, which one do you think my vocal usually belongs?
Echoing the sorrow and pain I have under depth. Depression sulking and gripping tight my pumping heart. Releasing orgasm is what I have loved— falling in love from a single time where I scream no one's name, where I heavy breath my air, where I found my eyes divinely rolling and diving back, where I glow under 2 am as I know everyone has been drifting off dreaming, where my body makes me feel like I'm floating above the ocean even though I'm afraid of it.
I was so determined lately I could answer what my professor has asked me, for being so mentally drained and physically out; my mouth was shut and the embarrassment I felt was over the edge. And so I began worrying my reputation, what if I become succeed, will people call me that one shy and quiet teenage girl who don't know basic answers from any questions thrown at her? Does she even deserve the money and brain she got now, because I know she doesn't?
I panic, outrageously panicking. I asked my friend "what could it be?" while my professor kept waiting for my delusion response that doesn't make sense, that doesn't even has a single connection to the question he provided significantly from the output presentation my group team mates were presenting. It was overall embarrassing. My group has individually able to answer and some of our team mates were helping whenever the one that was asked were silent, they supported the question but when it was my turn, I was left dumb and alone. They carried support but I was left no words coming from any seconds, eyebrows meeting each other close, tounge's flat and jawline clenched as well as body tense, brain has shut down; I was so little, I felt little like a kitten lost in the alleyway with no home to shelter to, with no mother to embrace and with no siblings to play with.
I wanted to cry but I never wanted to be seen so fragile, I hate being seen fragile even though in daylight, that has been who I am. Not was, but am.
I know the answer, I should've known the answer. If he could just appreciate what I said, I wouldn't be overthinking at this— but the answer I respond did not target what he was looking for— at least appreciate it even at less.
The guitar has been played mindlessly for a minute to hours now, because I couldn't get my head straight. I need some distraction. Unfair. So unfair. Was it unfair? Maybe I was just exaggerating. Excessively.
I want to bomb the shell, clap the clamp hard, sit on the glass with their heads visible from the chair, I was too embarrassed that I exceptionally excessing angsty. I was just exaggerating. I'm an introvert, maybe I was really just exaggerating.
I've been overthinking about it until now and maybe until tomorrow, and if the wound won't still heal then maybe I could stole another extra week or turn it into a month, months.
I want to set a nuclear, distinctive it under everyone and gain ability to destroy everything. This is not just because of the part where I had embarrassed myself for having no response answer to a simple question from my professor but this is for the heartache that still lively attach inside of me— breathing there forever.
Inequality of these fate and no giving a fuck universe, I hate everything I have and everything everyone got.
Why am I the last one to pick when a group of friends plan for a fun time?
Why am I the last to be remembered when my group of friends popping ideas?
Why do they look like they're having the best time of their lives when I'm not around?
Why was it so quiet and silence when I'm around this time? Maybe I'm being over dramatic?
I feel like I impregnate bad lucks and I'm a mother of it now.
It's like I was blooded to walk around and looking crazy while others were effortlessly children of candid.
It's like my tears were the viscous waters that kills softly fast the flowers but other's spit have them grow gloriously.
It's like I'm a pen born with a mole on my eraser head and people chose not to caress it on the paper as they're afraid it might spread solid dirty locks of ink.
It's like I'm a song that countless of hearers skip for the umpteenth time because the intro does not strum the expectations they've got for their emotions but when they given chance to listen, they'll still, not surprisingly, end it up with "nah, it really wasn't a fire song at all."
